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From Kevin Spenst:

September 23, 2016

My sisters dressed me as a dancer in fine linen;

I laughed through character changes with ease.

I wasn’t raised by wolves but by women.

My mom sang, don’t let the wolf eat the children,

before night shifts as she searched for her keys.

Our sharp blue eyes ensnaring eye contact.

My father was a wrinkle across abstraction,

an attempt to tame the wiles of a problem.

I wasn’t raised by wolves but by women.

– Do Not Go Before the Blazing Coronation, from Ignite

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